Scarlatti Spaghetti
by The Carrot
Summary: Spike's thinking to much and can't sleep but manages to get some food for his thoughts.


Scarlatti Spaghetti

Spike sighed dragging his tired limbs behind him so he could plop down bodily on his couch. It was late. Very late. And to Spike, there was nothing worse then being awake at 1:30 on a Sunday night-well Monday morning if you wanted to get particular about things- when you had to work the next morning.

Burying his face in the back of the couch the techie let his mind run through the events of the last few months, things had changed lately, some good (Ed had a baby, Spike got to play uncover cop with Sam at a night club filled with hot chicks) and some… not so good (Jules almost got killed, Mac died, they had been grilled by SIU and their ability brought into question, Steve had been making things awkward too…)- Spike looked up with a sigh, his chocolate eyes gazing at the old grandfather clock in his mothers living room, not really seeing it but it gave him something to focus his wavering attention on.

Idly he wondered when the teams' lives turned into an evening television drama. Sure they had a pretty dramatic job, swooping in and saving people, but it seemed that lately all their personal shit was hitting a hardware's store selection of fans. Spike chuckled lamely at his own joke before sighing again dropping his face back into the soft plush of the couch. When had their lives changed so much?

Thinking back to it, Spike blamed Sam. Everything seemed to come to a head in the years after he joined them. But the Italian knew that was a lie, Sam was a good kid, if not a little socially misguided and full of teenage angst that was waiting to burst through the seams; It was wrong to blame him, if not totally illogical.

Truth be told he supposed Team One had always had a lot of drama. Greg's failed marriage, Ed's failing marriage, because try as he liked to keep it together even a blind man could see that Ed had a choice to make, and he had to make it soon. Lou had grown up on the wrong side of the street and was still the best friend a person could have asked for. Wordy, oh God, Wordy bless him, possibly the most sane person on the team even with his amazing, now un-bruised wife and darling little children ready to tackle you as soon as you saw them. He was really the only one with a decently steady life. Jules had her odd commitment issues to everything but her paint brush and Jeep, and poor Sam had been stuck growing up alone in strange places with the weight of a dead sibling on his shoulders –because honestly he_ knew_ how to use a search engine- and an emotionally cold bastard of a General-father.

He never knew being bat shit insane was a job pre-requisite when he joined SRU. If he had, he would have just stayed in Traffic with Mac. The brief thought of using his genius to make a time machine and go back in time flittered across his mind, but tossed the thought away when he realized he wouldn't have his precious Babycakes if he did. Although… if he did, maybe he would be able to save Mac and maybe Lou would still be alive too, plus he wouldn't have the perpetual head ache from his team mates idiocy he got sometimes, it was almost enough of a trade off… almost. He loved his team, honestly and truly. But they drove him insane somedays.

…

Maybe he should look into making that time machine after all.

Drama. His mind muttered, the word bouncing around in his head continuously. They needed a break; away from all the kerfuffle and hub-bub of city life, away from all the hot calls of other peoples issues and their own family problems that seemed to claw at their backs every waking moment of everyday.

Spikes arm was asleep now, but he didn't bother to move it from its spot draped over the back of the couch beside his head. That would have required effort and even his bones felt weary at the moment, besides he could still feel his other arm just fine… mostly.

He needed sleep.

Sleep or-

The Techies head shot up at the familiar smell that hit him almost causing him to drool on reflex. Doe like eyes widened as they looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway that led from the living room to the once dark kitchen that was now flooded with light. She stood wrapped up a light green housecoat, a soft smile on her face, and a steaming bowl of something in her hand. When had that happened?

-Food. His mind supplied.

"Madre?" Spikes voice was a little slurred from lack of sleep and being pressed into the couch.

The older woman smiled striding forward so she could sit on the back of the couch where Spikes face had been buried moments prior. She handed the bowl to her son who took it gingerly with his one half-asleep arm.

Pasta. Spike felt his nerves settle at the familiar dish. The headache he had started to get from lack of oxygen, (because keeping your face pressed against anything for any amount of time was not a good idea no matter who you were) started to fade too. The sauce was fresh, just the way he loved it and vaguely he realized his mother must have been up for a while without him even noticing, too wrapped up in his own thoughts, to prepare it that way.

"Grazie mamma." He whispered as she stuck a fork into the bowl and smiled up at her.

"Non ti preoccupare figlio," She whispered back her own Italian sleepy as she ran her fingers through his cropped hair that was getting a little to long for her liking. "Ogni cosa a suo tempo."

'Don't worry son, everything in its own time.' Spikes mind repeated back to him as he took a deep breath, his nose filling with the scent of the tomatoes and herbs his mother grew. He felt the fingers in his hair stop and he glanced up in time for his mother to land a soft kiss to the top of his forehead.

"Ti amo Michelangelo." She whispered getting up to head back to the kitchen to turn off the lights once more.

"Grazie mamma, ti amo troppo." He called to her as she disappeared from view. Falling into the cushion that was propped against the arm of the couch Spike let a small smile creep onto his features as he stared at the spaghetti.

Sure, maybe Team One had had a rough couple of days, and they probably had a few more rough ones ahead of them, and hey, maybe his team **was** bat-shit crazy but he was still part of it. Probably be part of it for a long while yet, despite Greg's willingness to let him expand his horizons; and at the end of the day he still loved them… most days anyways.

Using the fork to twirl a few strands of spaghetti around the prongs Spike let his prior thoughts drift away into the bowl of red pasta letting one line of thinking remain.

Maybe all his team needed was a big helping of his mom's spaghetti. Maybe then things would calm down a little.

If only for a few minutes.

Spike blinked to himself, laughing under his breath before shovelling a forkful of food into his mouth.

Yeah right.

* * *

Originally going to be done for another livejournal prompt but it grew more legs and galloped away...again

Just a little love for Spike after all the crap the show's put him through. –huggs Spike plushie- We love you Spike. Don't we guys?


End file.
